


To Be Content Is To Be With You

by Janie_17



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, Asexual!Sherlock, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:45:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3133226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janie_17/pseuds/Janie_17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a fluffy little thing with cuddles and sleepy Sherlock and a very happy John. One-shot. same verse as my story "Love and Boundaries" but don't need to be read together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Content Is To Be With You

**Author's Note:**

> A/n: I have had this sort of just rattling around for a while and could never get the ending how I wanted. It’s still not what I wanted but it was the best I could do. Hope you enjoy it. Also, as I said in the summary, this is the same ‘Verse as “Love and Boundaries” but I don’t think you need to read one to get the other. This only glancingly mentions the events of that story. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Sherlock or its affiliates.

John sat contentedly with the telly on, though, if asked, he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what happened on the programme. His attention was focused mainly on the heap of blue silk and messy curls asleep next to him, head in his lap. The pattern was always the same with Sherlock, work nonstop on a case then crash for days, waking only to eat and use the toilet, and the fact that he and John had moved their relationship to one of a more romantic nature had not changed much. It merely changed where the detective slept, namely, wherever John happened to be at the moment, be it the living room or their bedroom. 

It amused John to discover that since Sherlock had allowed his guard to drop after their sex talk weeks before that the man was almost certainly part cat, if his movements and cuddling habits were anything to go by. He often ensured that some part of them was touching if they were sitting or standing close together, as if he needed the physical reassurance that John was still there. Through often extremely intimate, the touches were never sexual in nature, simply kind and reassuring. John often was able to use this need for physical contact to help at crime scenes, as it seemed the consulting detective was unable to spew as many hate-filled lines as usual toward Anderson when there was a hand on his back with its thumb rubbing soothing circles through the fabric of his coat. Naturally, he complained about the new trick to make him “play nice with the other children in the sandbox,” as John teasingly said, but when asked if he wanted it to stop the only response he gave was a minute shake of his head and a half-hearted scowl. 

Sherlock shifted in John’s lap as he started to wake. When his eyes finally opened, still hazy with sleep, the older man brushed the dark hair from his face and asked gently, “Good nap, love?” 

“Satisfactory,” he rumbled back, stifling a yawn. He half contemplated sitting upright before discarding the idea as tedious and remaining comfortable where he lay. 

“That’s good. You needed the sleep. Five hours in four days does not nearly begin to cover it.” John shifted slightly, accidentally jostling Sherlock just enough to annoy him. 

“Surely you don’t _need_ a cup of tea right now, do you? I am far too comfortable for that right now.” 

“How did you—,” he paused, shaking his head. “No, never mind. I’m not even going to ask how you deduced that.” He chuckled at the expression on the younger man’s face, certain that Sherlock was the only person in all of England, or perhaps even the world, able to look so smug while half asleep and draped over someone else’s lap. “But I am going to make you move. I need a cup of tea and you need to eat something.” 

“I’m not hungry,” the detective pouted. 

“Tough.” John tapped Sherlock’s shoulders, encouraging him to move. “You gotta eat, Sherlock, and pouting at me won’t change a thing.” 

The younger man sighed. “Fine,” he said shortly, “but I want pasta.” 

John chuckled fondly. “I can do that.” Standing, he brushed the backs of his fingers down Sherlock’s neck. The younger man hummed appreciatively, following him up from the couch and into the kitchen. As John buzzed about digging pots from the cupboards and retrieving the noodles and sauce, Sherlock busied himself with rummaging through the stack of glass slides next to his microscope and attempting to clear off enough room on the table to eat off it. He was unsure how long it would last, but he was trying to be more helpful around the flat, helpful meaning doing his best not to ignore the older man when asked to do something—like keeping the table safe to eat at—multiple times. 

With the table cleared to the best of his (minimal) effort, Sherlock stepped behind the older man, arms wrapping loosely around his waist and chin leaning on his shoulder, despite the fact that he had to slightly stoop to do so. 

“Sherlock?” the older man asked, his voice tinted with exasperation. 

“Yes, John?” he mumbled back, feeling his chin press slightly into his companions shoulder as he spoke. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Watching.” 

“Why?”

“Bored.” 

John snorted. “Of course you are. You’ve been awake hardly twenty minutes and haven’t gotten into something. I’m really not surprised you are bored.” Sherlock scowled, giving a small noise of protest in response. John patted one of the arms about his middle. “Let go for a moment, please, love.” Sherlock huffed in response, stepping away and letting his arms drop. “Thank you,” John said brightly. 

John drained the water from the pot of noodles, giving the sauce as quick stir afterwards, to keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pan. He smiled, looking over his shoulder at Sherlock. The taller man was hovering behind him impatiently. Shortly after, John placed the finished pasta into bowls and carried it to the table, where they ate in silence. Sherlock helped John do the washing up after they were finished, though if John was asked, he would certainly reply that what had actually happened was him doing all the work as Sherlock explained the chemical makeup of dish detergent. 

After dinner, the pair sank back on to the couch, John with his laptop and Sherlock with some scientific journal that had come in the post. He curled himself up, side pressed against his smaller flatmate’s side. An hour later, John closed the laptop with a soft thunk. He placed his arm around the other man’s shoulders. Sherlock made a soft contented noise in the back of his throat and shifted closer. As far as both men were concerned, this was exactly how any case-free afternoon should be spent.


End file.
